


The Beating of a Heart

by Ficlet_Sprinkler



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 00:43:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21170591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ficlet_Sprinkler/pseuds/Ficlet_Sprinkler
Summary: John is deadly sick, laying in the hospital, with Sherlock by his side. Things are not looking well for John, so Sherlock decides to finally tell him the truth. The truth he had been holding back for years, as it hurt too much for him to admit. Before it's too late...





	The Beating of a Heart

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. _

The sound kept on repeating in Sherlock’s head, over and over, like an alarm clock in his head that could not be turned off. The beeps punching his insides, until all that were left were tears and bruises.

He looked over to the person laying down in the bed. John.  _ His  _ John. His face was still as beautiful as the day they met. Sherlock didn’t care that that face had aged over the years; no, he loved those tiny details in John’s face. It showed all the time that they had spent together thus far. All the years, both together and apart. 

This beautiful face didn’t look as healthy as it used to, though. The once tanned tint of his skin had turned to a sickish white. Even John’s eyes had a red glare over the white. Sherlock wasn’t sure if that was from illness or from crying, though.

John was staring at the plastered white wall in front of him, when he noticed Sherlock staring into his eyes. He slowly turned his head to face him and stared back. Sherlock’s eyes were so beautiful. John had caught himself staring into them many times. And yet he never grew tired from looking into them. The colour of his iris seemed to be different every time you looked. Sherlock explained how that was possible once; something to do with ‘central heterochromia’, but John didn’t really listen because he was too distracted by his eyes.

They sat there, staring into each other’s eyes, like it was the first time they saw them. Eventually, Sherlock broke the silence. 

“John… I believe it’s better if you sleep,” he said, looking at him like he was the most delicate thing in the world.

“I know. It’s always time for me to sleep nowadays,” John sighed. He just wanted to be with Sherlock, not take a stupid nap. 

Sherlock deduced what John was thinking, and reassured him: “I could, stay here, while you sleep. If you want me to.”

John smiled at him. Sherlock had never been one to be compassionate, which made it even sweeter whenever he tried to be. “Of course. Thank you, Sherlock,” John said softly as he closed his eyes.

When Sherlock had made sure John had descended into a deep sleep, he closed his eyes and travelled to his mind palace.

He strolled around, having a gander at every door that he passed. Eventually, he slowed to a halt when he arrived at the door that said “29/1/2010” on the front in curly letters. 

His hand was shaking as it travelled to the doorknob, only stopping once his fingers were securely wrapped around the doorknob. He let his eyes move from his hand to the numbers on the door and pushed.

This room had always been one of the most special rooms in Sherlock’s mind palace. Every time Sherlock felt distressed, he could simply open this door and his feelings would start to slow and settle. He looked around the room once again. It had been a while since he last opened this door, and yet he found that nothing had changed. 

_ Of course it hasn’t changed. Don’t be stupid, _ Sherlock thought to himself. _ It could not change, after all; it was a memory. _

He walked inside and saw himself standing in front of him. He inspected his own young face, going over every detail as it was not his own. Slowly, he turned his gaze from himself and turned around smoothly as a ballerina making her final pirouette.

In front of him stood John Watson. His expression softened at the young man before him. He needn’t inspect John, seen as he had done so before, on the exact time of the memory. And yet, he couldn’t prevent himself from doing some new deductions, ones that he didn’t dare inspect nine years ago.

He walked over to John, who was holding out his phone for him to use. But this time, he didn’t inspect his tan line, the way he held himself in the room, nor did he deduct that he was a military doctor just home from Afghanistan or Iraq. No, Sherlock moved close to John, and examined his face.

His ocean blue eyes, which seemed to darken or lighten, depending on the angle you stared at it from. His thin but soft looking lips, surrounding a mouth that could form the greatest smile sherlock had ever seen; one that could brighten up his whole heart in a beat. 

He looked at his hair, which was still cut short. Nowadays, John had luscious locks of silver hair, which he ran his hand through when he was nervous. Hair that Sherlock wished he could run his hands through and comb like he did his own.

He came closer and put his hand around John’s, stroking the backside of John’s hand with his thumb like it was the last time he would ever feel his touch. He closed his eyes, which made a single tear fall down from his lashes.

“Sherlock?” he suddenly heard.

“John?” Sherlock opened his eyes and found that he was back in the hospital room, staring at a compassionate face.

When after a few seconds he realised it was John he was staring at, his mind rushed back to reality.

“John! Are you alright?” He quickly checked all the equipment attached to John with his eyes, to see if everything was still intact.

John chuckled. “Sherlock, Sherlock… Look at me. I’m okay,”

“Then why did you call my name?”

“Well, something woke me up…” he said softly, before he nudged his head in the direction of Sherlock’s hands.

Sherlock looked down at them and noticed that one of his hands was intertwined with John’s.

He quickly took it away, staring at his own hand as if it had betrayed him.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t – “

“No, it’s… fine,” John started, grinning at Sherlock.

There it was; the smile that lit up Sherlock’s whole heart. 

He smiled back shyly, before gently slipping his hand back through John’s.

At this, John’s eyes drooped, sending him back to sleep, his content smile still lingering on his face.

-*-

When John woke up, he was disappointed to find that Sherlock wasn't holding his hand anymore. Instead, he saw that Sherlock had fallen asleep, his body leaning backwards in the chair, one hand still resting inches away from John's. 

"Hey, Sherlock? Sherlock," John whispered.

"Wha?" Sherlock muttered, immediately wide-awake at the sound of John's voice. 

"Good morning," John said, grinning at Sherlock's messed up hair and groggy expression.

"Uugghh."

Sherlock sat up straight, ran his hands through his hair, and rubbed his eyes, before giving John a faint smile. 

"Good morning to you too, John."

Sherlock jumped up from his chair, startling John. Every day he was amazed by the amount of energy Sherlock harboured; he was like an energetic child. 

"Has doctor Sophia come yet?"

"Samantha. And, no. She didn't come yet. Why-"

John was cut off by doctor Samantha coming through the door. 

"Good morning!" 

Sherlock gave John a smirk behind Samantha's back, knowing how much John hated it when he predicted things like that. 

"Did you get some proper sleep?" the doctor asked, not looking up from her clipboard.

John turned his gaze away from Sherlock, his face still in a half-smile.

"Like a baby," he answered.

"Alright, so I'm going to have to check some of your stats… Um, if you'll excuse me, mister Holmes?" 

When Sherlock didn't move, John gave him a look.

"Oh!" Sherlock realised. "I have to leave?"

"Please."

Sherlock hesitated, his eyes going over John with a slight look of worry. John answered the look:  _ Don't worry. I'll be fine. You can go home. _

Sherlock nodded at this, turned on his heel, and walked out the door. 

On the way home, he could not quite focus. All he could think about was John.

_ John, John, John…  _ ** _John._ **

He opened the door to 221B, lost in thoughts, before his thoughts got disturbed by Mrs Hudson.

"Sherlock! Back so soon? How's John? You know I wanted to visit today, but I can't walk it, because my  _ hip.  _ So I was wondering-"

"Can't." Sherlock simply interrupted, before running upstairs. 

When he opened the door to the flat, his eyes scanned the room, looking for anything, anything at all, to distract him. Suddenly, he thought of a distraction.

"MRS HUDSOON!" he shouted, whilst running downstairs. 

"I need something. Give me it."

Mrs Hudson walked out of her living room, a confused expression lingering on her face. 

“What on earth do you-” 

But when she saw Sherlock’s expression, she immediately understood. She walked back inside her flat, only to return with a toddler in her arms. 

“Here she is,” she said, carefully putting the child in Sherlock’s arms. “Please be careful with her, Sherlock. You know how upset John gets and I wouldn’t know what to if something happened to her-”

“Of course I will, Mrs Hudson.” he looked at her reassuringly. “I would never do any harm to Rosie.”

  
  


Rosie stared at Sherlock, watched as his long fingers straightened into his signature thinking position. 

“Sherlok?” she asked, her head tilted to the side.

“Mmm,” Sherlock responded, his mind clearly somewhere else. 

After staring at him for a little longer, Rosie got bored and started walking clumsily through the room.

The first few steps went smoothly, but the steps started to get more and more clumsy, until eventually, her feet caught on air, her little arms couldn’t hold her balance anymore, and her face started falling right towards the hard edge of the coffee table. 

She would have fallen and injured herself, if it wasn’t for Sherlock, who stuck out his arm at the last second, causing Rosie to catch herself on his arm.

  
  


Rosie giggled, and playfully grabbed Sherlock’s sleeve. The boredom vanished from her eyes, and made place for an excited sparkle.

But the sparkle became disappointment, when she looked at Sherlock and saw that he was still staring in front of him, one of his hands still stretched under his chin.

Rosie sat down with a sigh, her fingers still curled around the sleeve.

Sherlock heard soft sobs coming from next to him, and as he furrowed his brow, he looked over to Rosie, who was softly crying into his sleeve. His expression immediately softened, and he picked up Rosie, who instantly showed an excited smile.

He placed her in his lap, and started inspecting her.

Rosie took this as an invitation to play, and grabbed a fistful of Sherlock’s hair.

But Sherlock didn’t even yelp. All he could think was:

_ “Why does John love you as much as he does?” _

When Mrs Hudson came in to check on the pair of them, she found them fast asleep on the ground, Sherlock’s hair tangled up between Rosie’s little fingers.

She tread over to them, and gently woke up Sherlock.

“What is it, Hudders…” Sherlock mumbled, his eyes still closed.

“It’s John, dear. I think you should go back to him now.”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open when he heard John’s name. He immediately picked up Rosie,, careful not to wake her, and stood up.

“Sherlock? What do you think you’re doing? I can take care of Rosie again while you-”

“Nonsense, Mrs Hudson. You said you wanted a ride to the hospital right? And John may want to see Rosie, so I simply figured…”

“You want to take Rosie and I to the hospital?”

“Well, yes. Obviously.” Sherlock sighed, and looked over to Rosie, who was still fast asleep.

“She needs to say goodbye.”

  
  


-*-

Sherlock, Rosie and Mrs Hudson took a cab to the hospital, and walked in as quickly as Mrs Hudson’s hip allowed them to.

“Welcome to Bart’s hospital, how can I help you?” the front desk worker asked them politely.

“We’re here to visit John Hamish Watson.” Sherlock couldn’t wait to see John again; the short break away from him had already been to long for him to bear.

“Of course, mister Holmes. Just take the elevator up, he’s in room-”

“258,” Sherlock promptly caught her off, already rushing to the elevator.

“I’m sorry about Sherlock, lovely girl. He’s like that sometimes,” Mrs Hudson attempted to apologise, to which the girl gave her a forgiving nod.

Mrs Hudson quickly paced to the elevator, and tried to catch up with Sherlock.

“Oh Sherlock…” Mrs Hudson sighed.

Sherlock barged into the room, Rosie still in his arms, ignoring the curious stares from the nurses.

His eyes searched for John, and as he found his way to the bed, he was surprised to see that Molly was sitting down next to John.

“Oh, hi Sherlock!”

Sherlock stopped in his tracks. 

“Hello Molly. What are you doing here?”

“I was just…” Molly’s eyes darted back and forth from the bed to Sherlock. “I had a break from work and I wanted to visit John.”

Sherlock slowly walked closer to the bed, his eyes never leaving a stare into Molly’s eyes, making Molly shyly avert her eyes.

Molly whispered:

“I wanted to… I needed to say goodbye.”

Still afraid to look Sherlock in the eye, she looked at John, who was fast asleep.

Sherlock took a deep breath, drawing Molly’s attention back to him.

“I understand.”

“You do?” Molly sighed in relief, but when she looked at Sherlock’s expression, she got nervous once again.

“Can I please have a moment? With John,” Sherlock whispered, and Molly could almost hear Sherlock’s voice break.

“Of course.”

Molly got up and walked to the door, but halted for a moment.

“Sherlock, if you need anything…”

“I can have you.” Sherlock smiled reassuringly, before Molly closed the door behind her.

-*-

“John.” Sherlock whispered.

“I think I need you to wake up now.”

John stirred at the sound of Sherlock’s voice, but it didn’t wake him.

“John?”

“Mmm,” John groaned, rolling over on his side.

Sherlock chuckled. “John, please. I promise you’ll get plenty of rest later.”

“Sherlock…” John mumbled.

Sherlock got hold of John’s arm, and gently rolled him back, so that he was lying face-up.

“I’ve got Rosie with me…”

“Few more minutes…” John groaned.

Sherlock sighed and looked over to Rosie, who was also still asleep.  _ Wonder what she got those sleeping skills from _ , Sherlock thought sarcastically.

He placed Rosie down on John’s chest, and John instinctively wrapped his arms around the toddler. Sherlock grabbed his camera phone and took a picture of the sleeping beauties.

Suddenly, Mrs Hudson walked in.

“Sherlock Holmes, how could you leave me alone like that? I had to go on the elevator by myself, then ask several nurses what room I had to go to, I don’t have that mind of yours, you know, and now you-”

Mrs Hudson’s expression immediately softened at the sight of John and Rosie. Letting out a soft  _ aww _ , she walked over to the bed.

Sherlock grinned. Mrs Hudson could always be won over when Rosie was being cute.

Finally, John opened his eyes. He squinted against the harsh light above him, and was terribly confused when he saw the people surrounding him.

“Sherlock? Rosie, Mrs Hudson… what are you all doing here?”

“Just visiting our favourite doctor,” Mrs Hudson responded, who was trying, and failing, to hold back her tears.

John laughed, which resulted in him having a coughing fit. Mrs Hudson quickly moved towards John, her motherly instinct kicking in. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” John reassured her. 

“Oh John…” Mrs Hudson couldn’t keep her tears in any longer, and started sobbing, softly stroking Rosie’s back and John’s hand.

“Mrs Hudson, please. Don’t cry. Everything will be alright,” John smiled, but Sherlock could see that he was lying. John was broken too, but the soldier in him kept him from showing it. 

Sherlock slowly picked Rosie up from John’s chest, allowing Mrs Hudson to fully sob over John’s chest.

John softly stroked Mrs Hudson’s hair, while they waited for her to calm down.

After a while, she slowly sat up straight again.

“Ooh John. I’m so sorry. It’s just, seeing you like this… I can’t.” Tears welled up in her eyes again, but she bravely batted them away. 

The four of them sat there for a while, talking about nothing important; just keeping each other company.

-*-

No one wanted to leave, But it was getting late and Rosie had to go home.

“I suppose it’s about time to put Rosie to bed,” Sherlock said, looking at the sleepy toddler clinging onto his shoulder. He softly rocked his arms up and down and paced around the room, hoping to put Rosie to sleep this way.

Rosie started crying.

“I’ll take her,” John said, extending a pair of trembling arms towards Sherlock.

Sherlock put the crying baby in John’s arms, flinching at the piercing cries.

As soon as she was comfortable in her father’s arms, the crying stopped and she fell into a deep sleep.

“Turns out she just needed her daddy,” Sherlock chuckled.

When he looked up at John’s face, however, John didn’t seem as happy.

On the contrary; John looked broken. His face was scrunched up, tears were rolling through the chisels of his skin over his cheeks, and his gaze stared at the content Rosie in his arms. Eyes glassy with pain.

Sherlock rushed to his side, but John held out a hand to stop him.

“Don’t.”

“John, what-”

“Don’t do this. Don’t… sympathise. I hate it. it’s fake.  _ Especially  _ with you.”

Tears welled up in Sherlock’s eyes.

“Is that really what you think of me John? An emotionless monster?”

John’s stared up at him, his eyes suddenly filled with resentment.

“Isn’t that a point of pride with you? Being able to keep all  _ emotions _ away?”

Sherlock didn’t know what to say. John thought he had no emotions. Oh, the dramatic irony.

“Not always, John,” he whispered.

“When  _ do  _ you have emotions then, Sherlock? Hm? When have you  _ ever  _ had emotions?”

Sherlock took a careful look into John’s eyes, before he whispered:

“With  _ you,  _ John.”

-*-

The room filled with silence; heavy, piercing silence.

After a bit, Mrs Hudson decided to speak.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it then,” she stated awkwardly. She carefully lifted the sleeping Rosie out of John’s arms and tip-toed outside.

As soon as he heard the -click- of the door closing, John decided to speak:

“You… You have  _ emotions _ with me?”

Sherlock chuckled sadly. 

“Isn’t it obvious John? Isn’t it obvious I…”

“Wait. me first.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows propped up in surprise.

“I love you, Sherlock.”

John couldn’t help himself from blurting it out.  _ There was nothing to lose, after all. _

All Sherlock could do was stare at John wide-eyed.

John coughed awkwardly. He looked up from under the hoods of his eyes at Sherlock.

Sherlock was somewhere completely else with his mind. His mind was going insane, the usually so steady beat of his thoughts were now irregular, out of place. He stared at John. The words were drowning out all his other thoughts. They were sounding over and over in his head. 

_ John loves me _ .

Suddenly, his thoughts were in order again, forcing themselves into a steady beat again. 

This was when he heard.

The sound of very fast beeping.

Sherlock’s eyes sprang back into focus, only for him to see John, lying back clumsily with his eyes closed. The heart monitor was racing out of control.

_ John. _

_ John! _ “Someone help here! Something is wrong!” Sherlock screamed.

John was starting to shake, yet his eyes were still shut.

Nurses and doctors came streaming in, forcing him out of the way.

_ No. Please, let me stay with him. John. My John… _

He let himself be dragged out of the room, his head heavy with tears as he got one last glimpse of John.

His John, being attached to all kinds of devices, being handled by a group of panicked doctors.

As soon as he was in the hallway, the door was closed behind him.

Mrs Hudson came rushing towards him, holding him in a steady embrace, while the whole world went blank, sounds were blocked out and all colours seemed to disappear. He didn’t even feel the tears stream down his face. He only heard his own rushing heartbeat, and one other sound.

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. _

-*-

The waiting time that followed felt like ages to Sherlock. The time crawled by, seeming to become slower and slower. Eventually, all of Sherlock’s tears had dried. His mind was still reeling. The thoughts were all jumbled up, struggling to get back in order. But every time it seemed like things were finally seeing sense again, he heard John’s voice. John, softly bringing out the words that confused him and broke him more than any words ever had the power to.

“ _ I love you _ ”

His heart seemed to race and stop all at once, as the view of John being surrounded by doctors popped up in his mind again.

Sherlock let out an involuntary sob, making Mrs Hudson hold his hand tight. 

He looked over to her in an expression that pleaded:

_ Please let this be over. _

Mrs Hudson smiled kindly to him, while tears were still softly running down her cheeks in a steady rhythm, like a creek softly surging forward, out of the lake that was Mrs Hudson’s eyes.

She rested her head on Sherlock’s shoulder. It was comforting, in a way. They both had the sense like they were in this together.

The overflow of emotions eventually tired Sherlock out, making him fall asleep next to Mrs Hudson. His long legs stretched out in front of him, he cuddled deep into his coat, as dreams came over his tired mind.

  
  


He stood in front of a door. A bright red bouquet of flowers was in his hands, standing out to the grey hues of the world.

He softly knocked. He looked at his shoes nervously while he waited for someone to open the door. But no one did.

Instead, he heard a soft sound coming from the other side of the door.

“Come in,” he heard.

His hands shakily gripped the doorknob, turning it over in order to open the door.

His eyes shifted across the room. It was mainly empty, with only a few empty beds in place, beds where other patients usually lie. He wasn’t surprised that they were empty. He only came to see one person.

His eye caught a bed with closed curtains surrounding it. The curtain slowly moved in the wind, even though there was no draught in the room whatsoever. He took steps towards it without any thought; he knew that bed was where he was supposed to be.

He ran his long fingers over the curtain, and gently pushed it out of the way. He noticed the figure sitting on the bed, and his heart skipped a beat.

_ John _ .

He was smiling at him; his perfect face only had eyes for Sherlock. Eyes. Those perfect blue eyes of him. Sherlock slowly lowered himself onto the chair situated next to the bed. 

“Sherlock,” John said.

“John,” Sherlock whispered, whilst placing the red flowers on the bedside table. John smiled at the flowers, before turning his attention back to Sherlock.

“I Imagine you have something you need to say to me,” John questioned. 

He knew. of course he knew, he knew Sherlock better than anyone had ever done before.

“Quite right.” Sherlock chuckled weakly, trying to conceal his sob. 

John didn’t say anything. He just gave Sherlock an expectant look, a slight smile lingering in the corner of his lips.  _ God, he’s gorgeous. _

Sherlock was faced with an issue, as he didn’t want John to see his broken expression, yet all he wanted to do was stare at John.

He chose to look John in the eyes. 

_ You can’t back out. You cannot break. Not now. Of all moments, not now. _

He gave John a slight smile, before straightening himself into his chair, and beginning to speak.

“John, before I met you, I had no friends. I had even convinced myself that any type of love was weakness, some toxic thing I had to avoid. 

You changed everything. Love was suddenly a wonderful thing I could enjoy, something that could give my life meaning again.

But I shortly noticed that this love went further than just friendship. I stared into your eyes longer than I should, talked with you even if you weren’t there… 

In short, my body was betraying me. Because I started liking you.

I just didn’t know if you felt the same way. So instead of approaching you about it, I distracted myself with cases. If we had no cases, I would go insane, as my feelings for you compulsorily started to surface. 

Even as I distracted myself, the feelings never seemed to vanish. Especially when we were apart; I missed you. Throughout those two years we were apart, I was living in hell.

But through all the torture and fights I had to go through, I always kept sane because of one reason: The thought that I’d soon be with you again.

Once we found out you were ill, I knew that there was limited time left. So I decided it was time for me to finally tell you the truth. You know what I always say?

‘Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’

“That truth is, John Watson, that I love you.”

Sherlock sighed. A great weight was finally lifted off his shoulders. Except Sherlock couldn’t bear look John in the eyes.  _ What will his reaction be? Will he be angry? _

John took Sherlock’s hand, and spoke up.

“Sherlock. I love you too. You are the most amazing man I have ever met. As I thought all emotion was abhorrent to you, I never thought it would be possible for you to love me back. Hearing these words from you… It is all I could have ever wished for.”

Sherlock’s eyes started filling up with tears, his breathing became irregular, and he felt a lump in his throat coming up. He gasped, before stating:

“But you never got to hear them.”

  
  


John softly caressed Sherlock’s hands, whilst softly whispering “it’s okay, it’s okay,” over and over.

“I don’t want to lose you, John,” Sherlock said, all choked up. “You made me a better man… And I’m afraid, if you’re gone… I will go back to where I was. I don’t… Please John. You’re all I have.”

John looked at Sherlock lovingly, tears bordering his eyes.

“No I’m not,” he smiled sadly. “You have Rosie, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade… Oh and please remember his name is Greg, will you? For me.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Of course, I will. Anything for you, John.”

The two men stared into each other’s eyes, not quite knowing what to say.

Finally, John broke the silence. 

“I think I have to go now.”

Sherlock looked at John, almost pleading. But then, he wiped away his tears, and straightened his back.

“I know you do.” He smiled sadly.

Sherlock grabbed John’s hand tight, and kissed him gently, shakily, on the forehead.

With his fingers resting on John’s wrist, Sherlock noticed the change.

He felt the pulse stop.

-*-

“JOHN!” Sherlock woke up from his dream with a jolt.

Mrs Hudson startled awake, and was quick to reassure Sherlock. 

“Sherlock, dear. Everything is alright. We have no news from the doctor yet. Which is good news in this case; they’re still trying their best-”

Sherlock didn’t listen. He jumped up and immediately raced to the door. He raised his hand to bang on the door, but just then, the door opened.

“Mr Holmes, I-”

Sherlock didn’t bother to listen. He barged in past the doctor, desperate to see John.

“Mr Holmes, please, you cannot be in here…”

The voice was a mere buzz in the back of his mind. He didn’t care. 

“John? John?! Where is my-”

He stopped.

There he was. In the bed. 

He could see him clearly now, as the doctors had moved aside, cleaning up the equipment. 

While his eyes brimmed with tears, he slowly tread closer.

John’s eyes were closed, his face tilted to the side.

Sherlock quickly stumbled over to look for his hand. It was no use, of course. He had deducted what was missing already.

He was right. Oh, how he yearned not to be right; for the first time in his life. But he was.

There was no pulse.

No rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor.

Just heart-shattering, earth-shaking, silence.

-*-

The rest of the day went by in a blur for Sherlock. Many people went by the hospital that day, mourning for John. Sherlock didn’t say a word to them. He couldn’t.

In the evening, he was home with Rosie. He didn’t remember how he got there. Someone must have brought him. he didn’t care.

All evening, all he could do was stare at the empty chair in front of him. He couldn’t bother to look at it, so he placed Rosie in it. Better. A Watson in the chair.

Rosie was looking at him curiously, giggling once in a while at things Sherlock couldn’t see.

She knew of nothing. Must be so relaxing.

Soon, everyone in London was fast asleep. Except for Sherlock. 

He stared at Rosie, who was fast asleep, a little smile on her face. 

He sat next to the crib, his hands over his head, trying to block out the thoughts that streamed into his mind. He just wanted them to stop.

“RRAAGH,” Sherlock yelled. 

Rosie startled awake by this, and started screaming.

Sherlock sighed, but was secretly happy for the distraction. Distraction, distraction was good. It stopped the thoughts.

He scooped up Rosie into his arms, and started pacing across the room, softly rocking Rosie back and forth. 

He walked to the window, and looked outside. 

Everything was so… calm. How could anyone be calm? Didn’t anyone in the world care that- that…

Sherlock couldn’t bear even think about it.

Distractions. That’s what he needed. 

He put the sleeping Rosie back into her crib, and grabbed his violin instead.

-*-

Mrs Hudson awoke to Sherlock playing the violin. She loved it when he played violin. Yet the reasons were probably not as lovely, so she went up to check up on him.

“Hoo Hoo!”

Sherlock continued to play.

“Would you fancy a cuppa, dear?”

Sherlock continued playing.

“I’ll take that as a yes then.”

Mrs Hudson picked up a hungry Rosie, and started preparing tea and some food for Rosie.

She sighed. Poor Sherlock… John was the one he loved most in all this world. Mrs Hudson couldn’t bear see Sherlock so sad, and Rosie so neglected.

She suddenly thought of an idea.

“Sherlock, dear? Should I bring Rosie to Molly today? She can take care of her while you-”

“No.”

“Oh. Why not dear? Are you sure, because you don’t need to take care of her, not now that-”

“NO,” Sherlock interrupted. “Watson stays with me.”

Mrs Hudson nodded understandably, after which Sherlock continued playing the violin. Mrs Hudson made sure Rosie was taken care of, before leaving again.

-*-

Days like this went by. Sherlock must have composed five songs, that’s how long he was playing violin. For days, he wouldn't speak to anyone. Mrs Hudson had to turn away many people who wanted to help, or see how Sherlock was doing. Sherlock wasn’t in the mood for visitors.

On day 5, however, a change occurred. Mrs Hudson woke up to the sound of crashing in the flat above her.

“GOD DAMN IT!” Sherlock yelled, throwing all objects within arms reach against the wall.

Mrs Hudson came running in, only to find Sherlock, surrounded with broken objects, and a screaming Rosie.

“What on earth are you doing?!” She yelled, while she grabbed Rosie and put her out of harm’s way.

“What is wrong, what is wrong! Everything, Mrs Hudson! NONE of it is okay! Why did he have to-” he kicked a chair, “FUCKING,” he kicked it again, “DIE?!!”

Sherlock lowered himself onto the floor, and started screaming like a child having a tantrum.

Mrs Hudson slowly moved towards him, trying not to startle him, and held him in a firm embrace.

Sherlock was sobbing, saying, “it’s not okay,” over and over.

Someone came in. Sherlock deduced from his shoes that it was Lestrade.

“Is everything alright? I heard screaming-”

“Go away, Lestrade.”

Lestrade took a step back at the sight of the broken Sherlock.

“Sherlock, I’m so sorry…”

Sherlock pushed himself up, regained his balance, and screamed:

“I SAID GO AWAY, GREG!”

Lestrade was taken aback, hurt by Sherlock’s words. He turned on his heel and went back downstairs.

“Sherlock, didn’t you think that was a bit-”

“And YOU. Leave! Now! You’re not my mother, you never will be!”

Mrs Hudson gave out a sob, and scrambled outside.

Sherlock slammed the door behind her, and picked up an ornament from a shelf.

He threw the Elephant figurine against the wall, causing it to shatter in a hundred pieces.

-*-

Greg woke up feeling like the world had come crashing down on him. He groaned, cherishing his warm covers for a little longer, before getting up.

He sighed. Today was the day of John’s funeral. Ever since John died, Lestrade had been having terrible days. He had terrible mood swings while he was still grieving. On top of this, he had trouble at work due to Sherlock not helping him out anymore. 

But most of all, he just missed his friend.

He grabbed his black suit from the closet, and started getting ready.

Mrs Hudson looked into the mirror. She had bought this black gown months prior, not knowing that she would have to wear it for such occasion. A tear drizzled down her cheek, down onto the black lace. She was ready.

Now she just had to drag Sherlock along.

Sherlock was awoken by Mrs Hudson in a black dress. She whispered something about a funeral. Sherlock barely listened. All he had eyes for was the figure standing behind her.

John.

  
  


He grudgingly got out of his sheet and put on the black suit that someone had already hung up for him, recently laundered and ironed.

He looked at himself in the mirror, ruffled his curls, and turned around.

“Ready, John?”

On the cab ride to the cemetery, Sherlock was browsing through his phone, looking for cases. Mrs Hudson was holding his hand.

Sherlock’s eyes kept shifting up to the passenger seat. Nerves, Mrs Hudson figured.

-*-

“Dearly beloved, friends and family. Thank you for gathering here today. Today, we say goodbye to John Watson. John Watson was a friend to many, a best friend to some, a colleague for others. It didn’t really matter what you were to him, John was someone who would love and respect all. He spent his entire life saving people. He was an army doctor in the war, and even as he left the war, he continued helping people in his job as a doctor.”

Sherlock zoned out. Boring, boring, boring. This person didn’t even know John, why was he talking about him? He was the one who lived with him, the one who probably knew him best. His speech would be better. 

He nervously tapped his knee, while he looked around. Lots of people had come to the funeral; mostly people from John’s military past. Sherlock noticed Lestrade, standing between the officers from the yard. All of them carried their hats with them, and held them to their chests as a sign of respect.

His eyes shifted to Molly, who was already crying her eyes out, even though the ceremony had barely begun.

Pretty much all the people he knew were there, either there to mourn John or to support him.

His head started hurting, and he looked into the trees, desperate for some sort of release. Then, he saw him. John, standing between the trees, looking at it all from a distance. He frowned and shook his head, trying to have him function properly again. 

_ He wasn’t really there. He couldn’t be. _

And yet, he couldn’t help but stare at the figure. If his mind had thought this up, it did a perfect job. John’s face was exactly how he remembered it; perfect in every way.

His gaze was interrupted by Mrs Hudson nudging his shoulder. He frowned.

“Sherlock… You’re up.”

He sighed. Of course. He had to give a speech. Even though Sherlock wasn’t exactly a natural at speeches, he agreed to do one anyway. Anything for John.

He got up shakily and walked to the stage.

A vague memory popped up in his mind of standing up to do a speech for John’s wedding. John was at his side, smiling to him reassuringly. He had been so nervous to do the speech. Just as he was now. Except this time, he didn’t have John by his side to reassure him. He glanced over in the direction of the trees, before focusing his attention back to the crowd.

“Thank you all for gathering here. I must admit, I am not the best one for speeches. But when it comes to John… Well, I have a lot to say. 

John. John Watson. We met under strange circumstances. He needed a flatmate, and I needed an assistant. Everything came together perfectly, as John was, indeed, perfect. He was the bravest and kindest man you would ever have the fortune to meet. He saw love in everything around him. Even in the most obnoxious and horrible person he would ever meet. That’s me by the way, hello. 

“John and I formed the most perfect team. The years we were apart were the most horrible years in both our lives. But when I tell you we were happy together, it would be an understatement. We loved each other. From the start, all the way to the end of the line, we loved each other with all our being. Many believed that this love was romantic. I can assure you, it was nothing of the sort. John Watson was my best friend. He put up with me, somehow, even through the harsh bits and tantrums due to lack of cases, or just me being a straight-up arsehole. 

I loved John Watson as I had never loved anyone before. And I can imagine you all feel the same. His love spread everywhere he went. In his work, in his life, in his blog… It was impossible not to love this man.

And when he says that he loved me back, I believe it is the highest compliment that anyone is capable of.

The truth is; John Watson was an extraordinary being. You may know him from the stories as the sidekick of the hero, but that is simply not the truth. Heroes don’t exist. 

But if they did, John Watson was one of them.”

People were clapping, some crying… Sherlock noticed none of it as he walked off the stage. His mind entranced, he tread back to his seat, his eyes focused on the trees. 

John wasn’t there anymore.

-*-

Sherlock sat in his room, his hands straightened under his chin in his classic thinking position. He couldn’t stop thinking about John. Everything reminded him of John: Rosie, the kitchen, his coat, London…

_ “Are you going to sit here doing nothing all day or will you buy the milk?” _

He turned his head in the direction of the door. No John. Just his mind.

He sighed.

_ “Any new cases? _ ”

He put his hands over his head, trying to stop the thoughts. His entire body was shaking, softly and slowly, out of his control. He almost felt sick. Sick? He hadn’t felt sick in years. Apart from when he had overdosed… 

_ “Which is it today, morphine or cocaine?”  _

He shook his head, trying to keep the voice out of his head. Neither, he was just feeling ill. Perhaps a nice cuppa would do him good.

He stood up shakily, and called downstairs for Mrs Hudson. No response. Of course; Mrs Hudson had taken Rosie to the park. What was wrong with his memory?

He stumbled to the kettle and managed to heat up some water.

His fingers followed the lines carved in the counter, as his mind fled up to lost memories.

_ “Ah, yes. This could be very nice. As soon as we get things cleaned up…” _

_ “DAMN MY LEG” _

_ “That was the craziest thing… I’ve ever done.” _

Sherlock sipped his tea, as the memories fled by like trains, never halting long enough for him to stop them. Pacing around the room, he found even more memories.

Shooting the wall.  _ “What the HELL are you doing?” _

Stag night.  _ “You know we don’t have a king?” _

Getting asked to be best man.  _ “Of course. Of course, you’re my best friend.” _

A tear trickled down Sherlock’s cheek. Oh, how that had hurt. Being called a best friend by the love of his life. If everything had gone differently, if John hadn’t found Mary, would things have been different? His fingers went up to his lips absentmindedly.  _ Perhaps. _

-*-

Mycroft awoke to a nagging feeling that someone needed him. He checked his phone; no new messages. He rubbed his temples and started to think. What could be wrong?...

This didn’t take much time to ponder, seen as it was always the same answer. Sherlock. Especially nowadays, as he was in a rougher place than usual. Mycroft had been surprised Sherlock had not gotten back to drugs yet. But maybe today was the day… 

He got dressed and immediately left the house, before stepping inside the car prepared for him.

“Where to, sir?” The driver asked.

Mycroft sighed. 

“221B Baker Street. Stat.”

-*-

Mycroft came in to Sherlock lying on the ground, curled up in a little ball. Tears were streaming down his face, and a box filled with syringes and and solutions lay next to him.

“Oh, Sherlock… What have you done?” 

Mycroft remembered this sight, as he had seen it before many times. He tried to keep calm as the memories flooded his mind once again.

Sherlock only responded with a broken sob.

Mycroft sat down on the ground next to him and gently started rubbing his little brother’s back. 

“Sherlock… Can I have the list?” he whispered, as careful as possible. He knew what Sherlock was capable of when he was high.

Sherlock gave out a teary chuckle. He tossed a paper in Mycroft’s lap. He had known Mycroft would come, of course.

Mycroft picked up the piece of paper from his lap, being as gentle as if he was picking up a baby bird, and turned it around.

And he turned it around again.

“Sherlock, I don’t understand. You gave me a blank piece of paper,”

Sherlock grinned and rolled onto his back. “And you’re welcome,” he prodded smugly.

Mycroft looked at him scoldingly. 

“Sherlock, you know this isn’t some joke!”

Sherlock sat up angrily.

“I know it isn’t!”

“Then why don’t you give me the list?”

“I just did!”

“No you didn’t,”

“YES I DID,” Sherlock yelled finally. He lowered his voice again, before adding: “I haven’t taken anything”

Mycroft looked at him, confused. Perhaps one of the rare moments that he was.

“Of course  _ you  _ wouldn’t understand it, Mycroft,” Sherlock said, as he lifted himself up. “Love has never been your strongest suit.” He stared at him accusingly.

Then, Mycroft’s face fell in understanding.

“Of course.”

“Of course what?”

“Of course you didn’t take anything.  _ John  _ wouldn’t want you to,”

Sherlock’s face fell. His eyes brimmed with tears again, so he turned his face away to stop Mycroft from seeing it. Of course, that was too late.

He slowly walked towards Sherlock, and put his arms around the trembling body. 

“It’s okay…” he whispered.

“I couldn’t take it, I couldn’t…” Sherlock started sobbing into Mycroft’s arms.

“I know.”

They stood there for a lot longer, resting on each other as the tears flowed. Mycroft acting as a shoulder to cry on, as he had done before, and as he would offer to do for the rest of his days.

-*-

-Two months later-

Sherlock pulled on his coat, while Mrs Hudson dressed Rosie up warm.

“She’ll need a scarf,” he said to Mrs Hudson.

“Yes, you’re right… Can you get it for me? My hip…”

Sherlock came in with a scarf before she could finish her sentence. He gently wrapped it around Rosie’s neck, who giggled happily in response. He smiled at the toddler, before wrapping his own scarf around his neck.

“I think we’re all ready to go,”

Mrs Hudson checked if they were both wrapped up warm enough, before giving both of them a kiss on the top of their heads and letting them go.

“Have fun!”

Sherlock took the stroller outside, onto the freshly fallen snow. He was thrilled. He had always loved snow.

He wandered over to the park, pushing the stroller in front of him. The park was filled with kids playing in the snow, running around with their sled dragged behind them.

Sherlock smiled as he took Rosie out of the stroller and put her on the ground. Rosie’s entire face lit up at the sight of snow. Sherlock grinned, and looked up at the sky.

“She loves the snow, John,” he whispered.

As if in response, snow suddenly started falling from the sky, landing on his nose and on Rosie’s little head. 

He nodded to the sky in appreciation. Sherlock almost had the sensation that John was actually there with him. His face felt warm, as if John was there holding it. Even his lips…

Sherlock shook his head. Nonsense. John was dead. And ghosts didn’t exist…

But what Sherlock was certain of, was that John was always there with them. He lived on in his friends, in him… and mostly in Rosie. He already saw so much of John in her.

He gently placed his hand on Rosie’s warm chest, to which Rosie put her little hand on his.

He felt the beating of her heart.

And all was well with the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first time writing angst, I hope you liked it!   
I would appreciate it if you let me know what you think of it :) <3


End file.
